The crossing at Tharbad had been a disaster, and now his horse was gone.  Boromir could only hope that the now riderless steed would come to no harm in the wilderness.  He was surprised at how much his heart ached at the loss.  The difficulty of going forward on foot did not trouble him; his strength was enough for the task.  He still had his sword, his shield, and his horn left to him, as well as his cloak to warm him and a small wallet of food that he kept on his belt. But his precious maps were gone!  Lost to him were the maps that Faramir had carefully prepared and given him to help him on his journey.  It was with a pang of sorrow that Boromir remembered tucking them into a saddlebag before attempting to cross the river. Those maps had been a constant reminder of his brother throughout the journey so far, and their loss was hard. He suddenly felt cut off from Faramir, as if a knife had sliced an invisible thread that had linked them, in spite of the long miles that lay between.

Boromir bowed his head in grief. He was truly alone.